When You Gonna Give Me Some Time?
by randomsquare
Summary: A Reality Bites AU. Aspiring documentary filmmaker, Emma Swan, has big plans. But right now, she's just trying to get by as best she can. But that's what your twenties are for, right? Figuring it out? Battling unemployment, an unhealthy addiction to the Physic Network, and an undeniable attraction to her best friend, Emma inches towards adulthood, one painful realization at a time.


**1\. Graduation  
**

Emma Swan was going to _Make It_. Cannes. Sundance. Hell, even Telluride. She was going to be the toast of them all. One day she was going to make a documentary that changed the world. She was going to make someone feel the way she had when she'd crept downstairs when she was twelve years old to watch a crappy ex-rental VHS of _The Thin Blue Line_ with her Dad, and felt her world spin off its axis.

Truth, Justice and the American Way were just lines from a comic book. The system was not infallible. And yet, if someone cared enough, a condemned man could walk free. A film really could change the world. And one day, Emma Swan would too.

But first she had to survive her graduation dinner with her parents. The place they'd picked out was pricey, soft and candlelit, where the menus were printed in French without translation, and an honest-to-god string quartet played soft, unassuming melodies in the corner. They'd gone overboard. _As usual._

Killian sat opposite her, slouched in his chair sporting his usual smirk and the shabby sports coat he'd worn to her graduation. To the untrained eye, the jacket might have seemed like a nice way to mark the occasion, but Emma knew him better than that. It wasn't an attempt to fit in. It was a costume. An art piece. A deliberate provocation, a way to make fun of the people who got all dressed up for the dog and pony show that was a college graduation ceremony. Like Emma's mom, wearing her grandmother's pearls. Or her dad and his new haircut, just a little too short on top.

Killian hadn't even been invited to dinner. He'd just hung around after the ceremony, making suspiciously polite inquiries after her parents' careers until her mother had taken pity on him and said there was room for one more. One thing you could say about Killian Jones, he never turned down the chance for a free meal.

They waited until dessert to spring the keys on her.

"Dad, _no_ ," she said, turning to him in alarm.

Her parents were not what you would call wealthy. Her dad worked part-time at an animal shelter and did odd-jobs, and her mother taught elementary school. Sure, some people in her class might have been expecting a BMW in the driveway come graduation day, but Emma hadn't been one of them. Even the thought of the bill for this extravagant dinner was almost enough to have her breaking out in hives.

"I _told_ you, David!" her mom said with a self-satisfied slap of her palm on the tabletop. "I _told_ you she wouldn't want it!"

Her parents liked to pretend they didn't fight. They were the fairy tale couple, after all, high school sweethearts who'd been happily married 25 years, thank you very much. And to a degree, that was true. They weren't the kind of people who shouted, or threw things. But passive aggressive? Yeah, they had that down to a fine art.

"Dad, you can't afford that…"

"It's not like it's a shiny new Mazda," he laughed, as if new Japanese cars were about as fanciful a mode of transportation as your everyday rocket ship. "It's my old truck. And you'll be needing something reliable, now you're out in the real world."

As if for the last four years Emma had been stuck in some kind of suspended animation, and not working her ass off to be valedictorian of her university. Getting her thesis film shown in a festival down in San Diego, all while waiting tables at Granny's Diner.

"And I don't like the idea of you riding those trains at night. We saw something in the paper the other day, didn't we?" he asked, waiting for his wife's nod of confirmation. "About a little old lady getting beaten up, her purse stolen. And the security guard only fifty feet away, too, distracted on that SnapChat!"

Sometimes Emma thought her parents went out of their way to find horror stories they could spring on her later, to better serve their cases for overprotective behavior. They were like sneaky, technophobic lawyers that way.

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Emma pleaded, trying to make him understand. "I do. But it's too much."

Her mom gave a murmur of approval beside her, shooting her dad a knowing look.

He clearly felt like he was on the ropes by this point, and turned instead to the only impartial spectator left. "Shouldn't a father be able to give his own daughter a car?" he implored, looking to Killian for a bit of moral support, man to man.

"Well, Dave," Killian drawled, in an overly familiar way that made Emma want to kick him under the table. "I'm afraid I'm not much of an authority. My father went out for a pack of cigarettes in 1998 and never came back, so I don't trouble him much for gifts."

This statement, delivered with just the right amount of droll self-deprecation, went down just as well as you'd expect. Killian Jones sure loved to cause a scene. Her dad made a small uncomfortable huff, and started fiddling unnecessarily with his tie. Her mom gave a loud gasp, reaching instinctively across the table to grasp Killian's hand. Her mom had always liked her wounded birds.

"Fine!" Emma said at once, startling everyone back into reality. "I'll take the truck. But just until I've got enough money to get my own."

Her dad's smile was smug as he handed over the keys, the small mirror ball attached to the keychain reflecting back twenty self-satisfied, dentist white grins.

Killian followed her outside after, lighting up a cigarette as soon as her mother's Ford Fiesta rounded the corner.

"So, Swan," he said after his first puff, his mouth working its way into a sideways grin. "Are you ready for your after-party?"


End file.
